I'll Find You Somewhere
by Daebereth
Summary: Jazz searches for his missing love - fits anywhere you want after the first movie. Slash, PxJ.


**Disclaimer:** Very much not belonging to me. I wish I had that much money! Unbeta'd, and I'm _really_ rusty at this...

**Written with: **Within Temptation's "Somewhere" can be found at **http://www./file/117597304/fb23b78/11_-_**

Set anytime after the first movie.

888

The field of space was dark, an endless void that called to a traveller to come to its ends, and cruelly keeping them just out of reach.

One mech pressed on through the black, occasionally glinting with the light of a passerby star, but otherwise burning his lonely trail through the cosmos.

Turns came at random, pulling him down towards planets for brief moments of exploration before he picked up and moved on, tossing memory of those worlds to the wind and wandering the stars, ever searching.

Recharge came in the reaches, though whether short or long, he had long since lost count. Chronometer or not, the empty black was too deceptive to tick off the orns.

On occasion he would awake, attempting to stretch his curled up form out to a warm body, long missed. And always, he would remember, that chassis was not here, had not been there for far too long.

The endless night ate up his lonely wails, dampening them into utter silence as he worked his vocaliser into temporary disuse trying to let his screams of anguish echo their calling to his missing partner.

For now, Jazz remained tucked into himself, processor ticking over dully as he raced minutely through the trails between planets.

He refused to believe that this was a mistake. Space was big, yes, he knew that all too well, but he needed to know where his missing mate was.

He needed to find Prowl.

The agony of not knowing, of not hearing a response from the black and white he loved so dearly was worse than the cold and lonely journey. For so long, he had waited, knowing a message had been sent to the remaining Autobots. Some had answered, and brought with them tales and reports on the others… but none of Prowl.

Not a single word of his beloved.

His choice was made, almost without him realising that the idea was forming. He hadn't cared a bit for the opinions of his teammates when he had left. Those paled in comparison for the aching need in his spark, the need to have what it was missing, the need to i_know_./i

Jazz turned, called by a grey beacon beyond, swinging himself towards a waiting planet, momentarily fascinated by a curling atmosphere that flashed with churning clouds and lightning.

He hurtled towards it, curling even tighter as he fell through the cloud, burning as he went. Even so, he welcomed the warmth against his hibernation-cold plating, feeling as the ice splintered and melted away and freed his joints.

Impact came as hard as ever, crashing into the solid ground and taking with it ever more some of his remaining self. Too much planetfall took its toll, until he was able to find populated planets to replenish himself at. His whole chassis ached as he picked himself up, claw drifting over the old pain through his midsection, a ghost agony.

Jazz picked himself up out of his crater, shaking himself off as he felt tiny tinkles of rubble move beneath his plating, listening to their rattles as they fell free. Only looking back did he realise that once more, he had left cracked bits of armour behind, finally overused in his entry.

He whimpered to himself as recalled some worlds back, discovering remnants of white and black armour, dented and burned.

He almost hoped then, in that moment, that his beloved tactician had moved on to the Matrix, free from the war, safe from its pains.

Picking himself up, however, Jazz found he didn't care how long this took. If Decepticons had him, he would rescue; if he had left this existence, he would follow; if he still lived, then he would hold him so tight that they could well be one being, and never let him go again.

Either way, he was going to find Prowl.

Jazz wasn't even quite certain where he himself was now. He travelled blindly, following a whim he wasn't certain enough of to call his spark leading him.

He halfway hoped that it wasn't, not with this desolate place he found himself in.

Mountain upon curving mountain ridge of sheared pebble surrounded him, endless greys, duskier than his own scratched and tarnished silver paintwork.

He lifted his gaze to the horizon, watching as lightning slew through a shifting dark in the sky. He knew he shouldn't continue on into the electrical storm, but refused to walk away.

Not if there was a chance of finding his mech beyond the stormcloud.

Rock shifted beneath his feet, the tumbling splinters of the mountain making it impossible for him to keep his balance, and Jazz went sliding down to the valley's floor.

He sighed, watching as stones skittered about him, a hollow applause, before picking himself up and continuing on his way, this time along the low of the land, following its wandering curves.

No more climbing. He was tired of the problems a heavy mechanoid being suffered on uneven ground with gravity as a cruel spectator.

So simply onwards he walked, no longer even looking to see where the storm was coming from, only listening to the rumbles of thunder off to the side. Whatever damage he took, he would keep going until he could move no longer.

Jazz became lost in the landscape, optics providing nothing but the same endless vista of rock upon rock upon rock, blurring his processor into the mottled grey until it swirled around, a bland kaleidoscope in his mind. He timed the burning of thunder in the sky with the cadence of his own footfalls, so caught up in his own slow tempo that it was a while before he realised another had joined in.

He turned towards the slip and scratch of stones, crouching against the coverless land and hoping that his colouration was enough to hide him.

Out of the backdrop of flashing thunderstorms, he watched as a figure, familiarly tall, scaled its own side of the mountain, head bowed and whole body moving with the same weariness Jazz felt in his own circuits.

He couldn't process the sight properly, not the folded down wings, nor the angular points upon helm that moved over the peak and started its slow way down towards him. Nothing worked, not his mind, not his body, he just stared, watching in a strange fascination.

Until, the mech also finally looked up from his trek, glowing blue optics passing over his and stopping, staring. And both remained, dead in their tracks, watching the other.

And then something flickered in his spark, a meek question almost too afraid to be asked, and he clicked.

Prowl.

Jazz all but threw himself up the hillside, scrambling upwards as best he could with the debris underfoot shifting and sliding, threatening to teach him a lesson in gravity.

Even more chunks of rock tumbled down towards him as Prowl made his descent, wings flared as if to keep himself stable while every now and then he would almost fall, slipping on uneven footing.

They caught each other, black and white and silver entwining, steadying and anchoring while the ground slipped away.

Jazz found himself almost crushed against his beloved mate, pulled hard and fast into a deep kiss. He simply pulled himself closer, claws raising to cradle his lover's face, searching blindly over every feature as he lost himself into the passion and relief. He could feel the ache in his spark fade and multiply, his soul reaching through his plating to its other half, sitting so unobtainably close to his.

It was the landscape that finally broke their greeting, ground pouring away enough that it no longer supported the weight of two mechs.

Even as they fell, neither let go, both refusing to relinquish what they had missed and sought for so long.

Sat there, tangled tight, the saboteur could only make a small sound of relief, or need, he couldn't tell.

Prowl shifted, prompting him to look up, right into blue optics fixed on his, a smile playing over the tactician's face. White fingers softly traced over the saboteur's face, finding every dip and rise, trailing over every contour as if afraid to touch.

Jazz shuttered his optics, pressing into the touch with a smile of his own and releasing a sigh of contentment.

"Let's go home."

888

A/N: It's totally up to you if they're alive or dead. Either works in its own way.


End file.
